Five Things That Never Happened to Joe Dawson
by Amberlee
Summary: Every life has roads not traveled.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Notes:**  
Joe, Horton, Darius, Duncan, Methos, Betsy, Amanda, and others mentioned here are not mine. I'm taking them out for a spin for recreational purposes only. This fic can also be found on my LJ and at the Highlander Fanfiction Archive.

_Happily Ever After_

He smiled so much for so long that his cheeks hurt. Everyone wanted just one more picture, one more hug, one more moment of time. He tried to be patient, he really did, but finally he'd asked Ox, best man in more ways than one, to do what he did best: get the offensive line together to guard the Quarterback so he could score. Betsy, looking like a picture of Jackie Kennedy only more beautiful, had squealed and lost her veil when he tossed her over his shoulder like a sack of grain but it was all for show. Flanked by his old teammates they busted out of the K of C hall and into the sunshine. His new team, his Corps, lined the stairs, their dress blues with blood stripes and gleaming buttons crisp as you please. Rice hailed down and swords rang in the late afternoon air.

Joe Dawson ran away with his bride.

-oO0Oo-


	2. Chapter 2

_Apostle_

He can hear the sweet clear voices of young boys raised in praise of a risen Son of God echoing from the nave as he kneels on cold stone. The smell of burning incense fills his humble room. The rough weave of peasant cloth keeps him warm for this church was built long before luxuries such as central heating.

_"Credo in Deum Patrem omnipotentem, Creatorem caeli et terrae."_

The words come easily, familiar as breathing and as comforting as the embrace of a lover. He has spoken them almost all of his life. This is his world: a world of traditions far older than he, ones he knows will continue long after his passing. The Church has changed, moved forward into modernity and become the religion about Christ instead of Christ's religion, but here at this small French parish time stands still. Here the Mass is still celebrated in Latin every Sunday, they wear simple homespun brown instead of ornate vestments, and spreading the message of love and peace is the most sacred of all callings.

_"Credo in Spiritum Sanctum, sanctam Ecclesiam catholicam, sanctorum communionem, remissionem peccatorum, carnis resurrectionem et vitam aeternam."_

The hands that come to rest on his shoulders are strong, warm, and as ageless as the Latin he speaks.

"Amen, Brother Joseph."

"Amen, Brother Darius."

-oO0Oo-

**TheThe Latin is part of the Apostles Creed:**  
_Credo in Deum Patrem omnipotentem, Creatorem caeli et terrae._ -- I believe in God, the Father Almighty, Creator of heaven and earth.  
_Credo in Spiritum Sanctum, sanctam Ecclesiam catholicam, sanctorum communionem, remissionem peccatorum, carnis resurrectionem et vitam aeternam._ -- I believe in the Holy Spirit, the holy catholic Church, the communion of saints, the forgiveness of sins, the resurrection of the body, and the life everlasting.


	3. Chapter 3

_Kin_

"You look like hell, Joe."

"Yeah? You should see the other guy."

Duncan grinned and sat down on Joe's right. Methos took the chair on the left.

Joe ran a hand through his hair. "You know, I thought I was a pretty cool customer. I crawled on my belly through mud, was shot at more times than I can count, and stepped on a mine back in 'Nam. I got nothin' on that woman. Twenty-one hours," he let out a low whistle, "I don't know how she did it."

"Did you cut the cord or pass out?" Methos asked.

Joe looked sheepish as he mumbled the reply. "I passed out."

Methos laughed and pulled a bottle of Jameson 12 year out of his coat. "I told you to have a shot of this before you went in there."

Duncan clapped Joe on the back. "Congratulations, Dad." He produced four Cuban cigars from his inside pocket. "If you think Lauren can spare you for a bit, we'll go somewhere and smoke these in honor of the latest Dawson."

"Four?"

The click of Amanda's Jimmy Choos on the terrazzo floors of the waiting area was Joe's reply. "Joe, he's just gorgeous! Got his father's eyes. What are you naming him?"

"Richie."

-oO0Oo-


	4. Chapter 4

_Hunter_

"It has to be done."

Joe looked down at the smoking gun, the heavy weight of the black metal resting in his hand a kind of metaphor for the darkness he felt must swallow him whole. A part of him, the part an Immortal had once called "boy scout," screamed that this was not right -- that it was not honorable or fair -- and that this man at least deserved a chance to fight; a chance to go down swinging according to the rules of the Game. But that voice was only a distant whisper now, drowned out by loathing, hate, and fear. James was right. Sooner or later they all became something twisted and evil. To allow any of them to gain the Prize would mean an eternity of slavery for mankind.

James took the gun and pressed a sword hilt into his hand. Joe took a deep breath, stepped forward, and rested the blade of the broadsword against the Immortal's neck.

"Goodbye, Duncan MacLeod."

He cut clean.

-oO0Oo-


	5. Chapter 5

_In Memoriam_

**Joe Dawson Passes Hat - Farewell to local blues legend**  
_(Adam Carson, Chicago Sun-Times, January 2, 2044)_

CHICAGO, IL - Well folks, it's the end of an era. Joseph "Joe" Dawson, Grammy Award winning guitarist, singer, and songwriter, died in his sleep in his Chicago home on New Year's Day. He was 93.

Notoriety came late to Dawson. A life-long resident of Chicago, he passed up a full-ride scholarship to Note Dame as a football player to pursue his passion for the blues. Drafted in 1968, he spent only six months in Vietnam before a land mine took both his legs but he never let the loss slow him down. On his return to Chicago, Dawson became a fixture of the local circuit, playing in relative obscurity and paying his dues. Over time he developed a cult following, jamming with big names like Muddy Watters, Sunnyland Slim, Robert Lockwood Jr., and James Cotton just to name a few.

In the mid-nineties, Dawson opened a hole-in-the-wall blues joint called Joe's on Chicago's south side. It quickly became known for a surprising and eclectic mix of local and visiting talent with the house band, and Dawson himself, opening every evening's festivities. A recording contract followed about a year later.

Dawson and his band put out three moderately successful albums (_Don't Want What I Haven't Got, Been On My Mind,_ and _Pullin' Up Stakes_) on a local label before striking gold in 2012 with the gospel tinged _Borrowed Time_. The album produced three unlikely top twenty hits, ranked in the top fifteen on the Country, Gospel, and Pop charts, and is credited with rekindling the public's romance with the blues. The follow-up album, _Back to Basics_, won Dawson a Grammy for Best Traditional Blues Album in 2014.

Never one to rest on his laurels, Dawson continued to play at his bar until the day of his death. Wearing his trademark fedora and bandana, he belted out blues classics and originals to a packed house for New Year's Eve. This reporter was in attendance and can tell you he was in rare form, joking with the with crowd, drinking scotch, and having the time of his life.

Dawson will be laid to rest in a private service on Tuesday, January 6th. A spokesman for Dawson's family says that Joe's will open for one final open mike night on Saturday, January 10th, before closing for good. A cover charge of ten dollars a head, a first in the history of the bar, will help fund the newly created Joseph J. Dawson Memorial Scholarship to benefit young Chicago musicians.

You can bet I'll be there.

-oO0Oo-


End file.
